


[One shot] Who's There?

by jjangah (msbutterfingers)



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dark, Gen, Horror, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6190346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbutterfingers/pseuds/jjangah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chanyeol only wanted to make the knocking stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[One shot] Who's There?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my k-pop livejournal and in the lj community Sonyeoncheonji for Halloween.

 

**In 2007, these journal entries were found in a journal belonging to Park Chanyeol—the former resident of the abandoned apartment 13B of the High Hill Apartments in Hongdae, Seoul, South Korea. This information is absolutely classified and any persons outside of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency are forbidden from reading it. Doing so will result in the persons’ immediate siege and punishment under Federal Law.**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_October 12_  
  
There it is again.  
  
It’s 3:03 AM, and I’m lying awake in my bed, hearing nothing but the sound of repeated, insistent knocking.  
  
It’s the type of knocking that someone does at your door when they’re desperate to come in, if they’re being chased and need protection—or maybe if you’re in the bathroom and they really need to use the toilet. Constant, repeated, sharp rapping of the knuckles, insisting that I open the door. The sound, however, does not come from the front door of my apartment. It comes from the other side of the wall, the same wall that my bed is pushed up against. My free hand is clamped over one ear, but it barely blocks out the sound.  
  
The knocking comes every day. Early every morning, at 3:00 AM, the knocking starts, growing insistent, louder and louder, until it stops completely at 3:16. It’s happened every day since I first moved into this apartment 2 months ago.  
  
The night this first happened, it absolutely terrified me. My first thought was that Hongdae was a much more dangerous area than I had previously thought, and it was some thieves banging on my door to come in, tie me up, and steal all of my things. I’d even gone as far as calling my father, asking him to come over and scare them off. But by the time he’d arrived from across town, the knocking had stopped, and he found me crouched in the kitchen holding a steak knife, telling me that there was no one outside my apartment—not even anyone outside the building. I was still shaken, so he had stayed the rest of the night anyway and left in the morning, assuring me to call him again if there was any more trouble. I said I would, although realizing how far away he was from me, and how by the time he’d made it there the noise had already stopped, I didn’t see the point of it anyway.  
  
The second night in the apartment, I called the police. Same situation—the police arrived some time after the knocking had already stopped, and I apologized profusely as they left, grumbling amongst themselves about stupid prankster teenagers.  
  
The third night, I finally realized that the knocking wasn’t coming from the front door. It was coming from the next apartment over, my neighbors next door.  
  
Realizing this thoroughly embarrassed me. Of course it was my neighbors. They were probably older than me, had seen me—a first year college student—moving in by myself next door, with no roommate in my first apartment, and decided it would be fun to scare me. And I’d fallen for it, even going as far as calling my daddy for help. How humiliating.  
  
I was so embarrassed that I didn’t mention the neighbors’ pranks to anyone, even as the knocking continued into the fourth, fifth, and sixth day. I felt like they were mocking me, playing with the vulnerability and emotions of a young man trying to start out on his own and be on his way to his degree. I considered telling the landlord about it, but I had the sinking feeling that it would only make things worse. So I could only hope that if I kept calm and tried to ignore it, they would eventually stop.  
  
Only for two straight months, they haven’t. They’ve kept knocking everyday for two whole months. They never miss a day.  
  
Who do these people think they are? What kind of people are they, that they have the time, patience and perseverance to do this every night for two months? And at three in the morning?  
  
And furthermore, I’d never even seen them. I still haven’t. While I’ve seen a few of my other neighbors in passing on the stairs, or on the elevator, or in the lobby, I’ve never even seen these people. Other than hearing the loud knocking while I try to sleep, I sometimes hear them talking and moving around during the day. But in two months, I have never once seen them. Maybe they’re antisocial. Or maybe they’re some sketchy ne’er do wells that do illegal things that they have to make sure stay hidden from everyone in the building. Who knows.  
  
And now, at 3:16 exactly, there’s only silence. Silence and stillness. My Doctor Who poster across the room on the wall where it’s always been. My giant blue bean bag chair in the corner as always. My black shag rug in place on the floor.  
  
Seeing everything in place calms the anxiety crawling in my chest, and a cool calm has replaced it. I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight.  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
_October 16_  
  
I’m having my first guest over for the night today.  
  
My best friend from high school, Do Kyungsoo, has come to sleep over. When he knocked at the door I nearly had a stroke—out of habit, I suppose. But as soon as I opened the door, he charged at me with a hug that nearly made me topple onto the floor. His demeanor brightened my lonely apartment immediately, his rare bright smile like a ray of sunshine after a rainstorm, and it’s a relief. He’s been here before, sometimes after school to hang out or during the day on weekends, but he’s never spent the night.  
  
The night started out fine, with us watching movies and ordering food just like our countless sleepovers in high school before, and for the first time since moving in, I wasn’t afraid to be in this apartment during the night.  
  
But it didn’t last long, and what I’ve forgotten to dread for the past few hours has made itself known once again.  
  
At 3:00 AM, it started fresh and loud. The sudden noise had the effect of a gunshot; I jumped so violently that the magazine I was reading dropped from my lap to the carpet beneath my bed and Kyungsoo, who was sleeping on the ground on an air mattress, jostled almost two feet into the air with a shriek.  
  
He looked at me from the ground, his large brown eyes wild and his face flushed pink. “What the hell is that? Is someone trying to break in?”  
  
I paused for a moment, wondering how exactly I’m supposed to explain this. “No. It’s…” I trailed off, looking at his bewildered expression. I sighed. “It’s my next door neighbors.”  
  
“What do you mean, it’s your neighbors?” He sat up all the way, annoyed. He shouted over the noise, “What in God’s name are they doing over there? Renovations? Do they have a whole construction crew over there?”  
  
I folded my hands in my lap, twiddling my thumbs together. “No. At least, I don’t think so.” I sighed again, dropping my forehead into one of my hands. “They’re just…knocking on the wall. They do this every night.”  
  
He squinted at me in confusion. “Knocking? Why would they do that?”  
  
I shrugged. “To freak me out, I guess.”  
  
“That’s…that’s awful.”  
  
“Sometimes I swear I can hear them laughing about it.”  
  
He stared at the wall behind me, where the knocks always come from, and a deep frown furrowed his face. “Well, you’ve told someone about it right? And they haven’t done anything about it?”  
  
That was the question I was dreading. “Well…” I trailed off again.  
  
Kyungsoo’s eyes widened. “ You haven’t told anybody about it? Chanyeol, are you serious?” He folded his arms. “This is harassment. They’re harassing you.”  
  
“I know,” I said quietly.  
  
“Have you at least tried confronting them directly?” he asked.  
  
“…No. I’ve never even seen them before.”  
  
Suddenly pushing up from the air mattress, Kyungsoo stomped across the bedroom to the door and stormed out before I realized what he was doing. I raced after him, but he had already run to the front door.  
  
I called after him, “Kyungsoo, stop! Don’t! I don’t even know them, they might be dangerous!”  
  
Ignoring me, he flung the front door open and paced out into the hallway, heading in the direction of my neighbor’s door. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of him pounding on their door, possibly even harder than they’d been knocking on my wall. “Hey, douchebags! Open up, we need to have a little chat about neighborly decency!” He shouted.  
  
I squirmed, wishing he would stop shouting, because it was still three in the morning and there were my other neighbors to think about, but I stopped when I realized something. I turned on my heel and rushed back to peek my head into my bedroom. The knocking on the wall had stopped. I looked at the clock. _3:06 AM_.  
  
I walked back to the front door silently just as Kyungsoo was coming back in. I closed and locked the door behind him. “What did they say?” I asked him.  
  
He shrugs, looking tired and irritated. “They didn’t answer the door. Didn’t say anything in return through the door, even when I cussed at ‘em. Cowards.”  
  
Even though his firecracker tendencies had gotten us in trouble a few times in the past, other times I really admired him for it. Like tonight.  
  
The drama done for now, we paced back into my bedroom and lay back down. Kyungsoo’s asleep again, and I’m going to try and sleep as well, if I can after all of that. Goodnight.  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
_October 17_  
  
Kyungsoo went home this afternoon, but not before telling me that I need to do something about my neighbors’ harassment, and soon, or he would do it himself. Somehow that threat puts the image of him busting down their door into my head, which makes me giggle a little, but also makes me cringe because it’s definitely something that he’s capable of doing. He’s 173cm of dynamite, as my mom had always said about him.  
  
In high school, he had always been my rock, always brave and strong for me when I couldn’t be. I wish he could be my roommate and help me deal with this, but with him going to a different college from me and living in a dorm there, it’s impossible. Maybe next year.  
  
Well, I’m hungry. I’m going to go heat up some leftover pizza, sit on the couch and watch TV until I fall asleep.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
It’s 3:06 AM.  
  
The knocking woke me up with a scathing vengeance. I shot upwards from my lying position on the couch, my heart pounding.  
  
It’s curious, because all the nights before, the knocking had just come from the other side of my bedroom wall. But this time, it was on the other side of the living room wall, just behind the TV. The fervent, constant knocking shook the framed pictures on the wall, even made the TV screen vibrate.  
  
How…how had they known I was sleeping in here?  
  
Was it because they heard that the TV was on? That was a possibility. But after the night before, I had honestly thought they would stop.  
  
Anger surged through me, and in a moment of wild bravery and determination, I jumped up from the couch, walked straight over to the wall, and pounded on it with my fist, hard. “ _Give it a rest!_ ” I yelled as I hit my fist on the wall.  
  
There was an immediate, unsettling silence.  
  
I took one step back from the wall, folding my arms and listening hard for any sort of noise at all. For any laughing from the other side or for any murmuring from these mysterious people…and there was nothing.  
  
Then _, BAM._  
  
One huge, resounding slam from the other side. It startled me so badly that I jumped back and fell down to the floor.  
Another one. _BAM._ It didn’t sound like a fist colliding with the wall—it sounded more like a 300 pound man slamming all of his weight against it. The whole wall was vibrating. Another— _BAM._ The TV jumped an inch or two closer to the edge of the table it sits on. Two picture frames fell from the wall and tumbled onto the ground, the glass inside smashing into pieces. A fourth one— _BAM._  
  
I crawled backward, my breathing hard and labored as my heart did somersaults and back flips against my ribcage. Raw panic swelled through me and rose in my throat. Before I could even fully register what was happening enough to scream in terror—the violence stops and the quiet stillness returns.  
  
I spent a good five minutes with my head between my knees, trying to get a grip and regulate my breathing before I passed out. Meanwhile, the TV droned on, a sitcom playing on it. For a little while I just listened to the studio audience laughing away like nothing just happened, like everything was normal.  
  
This has gone far beyond harassment now.  
  
This was far beyond what I ever imagined they might do. Clearly, these aren’t pranksters. These are dangerous people I’m dealing with. The loud, violent slams—it had been like they were trying to break through my wall. I keep looking at the broken picture frames on the floor in disbelief. I don’t understand. Why? Why would anyone do such a thing?  
  
I’ve done nothing to them. This was the first time I’d ever said anything to them, in fact. It was the first time I’d ever dared to knock back. And then this happens.  
  
This has to stop now. It can’t go on anymore.  
  
I will talk to the landlord tomorrow. I will fix this. This will not happen again. This will be taken care of, and I will move on with my life.  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_October 18_  
  
Today I went to the landlord.  
  
When I arrived at his apartment, for a moment, I stared at the number on the apartment door. _1._ Then, I tentatively knocked. The door opened after a few moments. An older man with kind eyes and a gentle smile greeted me. “Hello there. You must be Chanyeol. You called me this morning right?”  
  
I smiled, his friendliness was contagious. It was my first honest smile all day. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“Well, come on in.” He stepped aside in the doorway, welcoming me in. “I just made a pot of Earl Grey. You like tea?”  
  
A few minutes later, I was sitting on the couch a few feet away from him with a mug of tea. Inside of his place was what I would expect from a man his age, plaid everywhere and knick knacks that look like they were straight out of a fishing catalogue. He reminded me, vaguely, of my grandpa.  
  
He settled down with his mug of tea as well, squinted at me and then took a large swig of the piping hot beverage. “So, what’s this about? You live in apartment 13B, am I right?”  
  
“Yes, I do.” I shifted the mug between my hands. “But…this isn’t completely about my apartment.”  
  
This caught his attention, and he shifted forward, lowering the mug from his face. “Go on,” he said.  
  
I looked away, nervous. “This is about…a noise problem. Well, no, not noise. More like harassment.” I decided to jump right in, wanting to get it over with. “My next door neighbors…you know, the ones that live in 13A? Well, ever since the first day I moved in, at night, they’ve…well…” I glanced in his direction momentarily to see him looking at me in confusion. I started to hesitate, and I took up staring directly into my mug because I felt like a 5 th grader telling on someone and I suddenly felt ridiculous. I decided to leave out the part about it being specifically at 3 AM, because that part just sounded crazy. “I think they’ve been deliberately trying to scare me at night. Making noise and knocking on the wall. Because they know I live by myself. And it’s happened every night since I—”  
  
“Young man,” the landlord interrupted me. “You’re mistaken.”  
  
I looked up from the hot drink in my hands. “I’m sorry?”  
  
He shook his head. “You must be mistaken. You’re talking about the apartment on the other side. You’re talking about your neighbors in 13C, aren’t you?”  
  
I was confused by his assumption. Thinking that he was maybe just clarifying my information so he could take proper measures, I shook my head lightly and smiled. “No, sir. I’m definitely talking about my neighbors in 13A. I know it’s them because the knocking and noises only come from one side of my apartment, and it’s always on the East walls, the walls I share with 13A.”  
  
But he shook his head again, looking absolutely adamant. “No, no. Son, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”  
  
Further confused, my smile dropped from my face. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean that you simply cannot be hearing those noises from 13A. Nobody lives in 13A.”  
  
My heart plummeted into my stomach, and I felt all the blood drain from my face, ears, and neck. I stared. “What are you talking about?”  
  
He gave me a strange look. “There are no residents living in 13A. It’s been vacant for five years.”  
  
I shook my head, somehow managing to set my mug down with a trembling hand on the coffee table without dropping it. “No. That’s…no. That’s impossible. I’ve been hearing things from that apartment for months. _Every day_ , for _months_.” I was suddenly struggling to breathe, and I felt like the room was spinning.  
  
The landlord stared at me now, holding his hands out in front of him helplessly. “Now, calm down. Maybe you just _thought_ you heard them from the other side, but they really were coming from 13C. Maybe they’re the ones harassing you. If you’d like, I could go visit 13C a and have a chat with them—”  
  
I stood swiftly. I wasn’t wrong. I _knew_ what I was hearing, and what I was hearing was from 13A. “No, no thank you. That won’t be necessary.” I gathered my backpack up and pulled the strap up onto my shoulder.  
  
He stood as well, looking at me with sympathy. Or maybe it was pity. He must think I’m crazy. “I remember how scary it was living in my first apartment. Maybe the stress from school, along with a new environment, is taking its toll on you.”  
  
Now he was just being condescending. Deciding I didn’t need any more of this, I started to make my way out of his apartment. “Thanks for your help,” I said, trying to restrain the panic in my voice. I reached for the doorknob of his front door.  
  
He called after me from the living room, “If there’s anything else you need, let me know!”  
  
I shut the door after me in reply. I stood out in the hallway for a moment or two in silence, and then I leaned against the wall, slid down it, and sat on the floor, holding my head in my hands. Fear crawled up my spine, under my skin, and put ice in my veins.  
  
It’s impossible. Impossible. He was lying. He had to have been.  
  
The noises are from 13A. They are. They have to be.  
  
I know what I’ve been hearing.  
  
I’m not crazy.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_October 21_  
  
I spent four days at my parent’s house. Four days was all I could manage there. When I’d first shown up at their front door, I had just said that I had missed them a lot and wanted to spend some time with them.  
  
After just three days, however, they had started to get slightly concerned at my skittish behavior, and they had begun to ask why I was so adamant on not going home. To that question, I never gave them a direct answer. I didn’t want to explain the real reason I was staying so long. They would never believe me, anyway. I hardly believe it myself. So reluctantly, I left.  
  
Today, as soon as I stepped foot into my apartment for the first time in four days, I had to muffle a scream with both of my hands.  
  
Disarray. Chaos. All of the picture frames that had been on the walls were on the floor, all of the furniture that had been pushed up against the wall had been knocked down. I ran to the other rooms in the apartment, and everything else was the same as the living room; in the bathroom, in my bedroom. Furniture knocked down, frames and posters strewn and completely torn. There was nothing even touching the walls.  Nothing at all.  
  
At first I didn’t even know what to do, I just stood there and stared at everything like if I stared hard enough at the mess it would all go back to how it was before, fade away like a mirage. But it didn’t. So wordlessly, trying not to think too much of it, I put things back where they were to the best of my ability. My torn Doctor Who poster, though, was a casualty that I can’t fix at the moment, so I put it aside for when I get enough tape to put it back together.  
  
After putting everything back and cleaning up the broken glass from the frames, my second thought was to look for missing items, as I suppose anyone should if their apartment has been vandalized like mine was. But after looking through my valuables, and even the shoebox of money that I keep under my bed for emergency funds, I found that nothing was missing.  
  
Absolutely nothing.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
I’m sitting on the couch, staring at the clock on the wall. _9:43 PM._ I still have time. I still have plenty of time.  
  
Maybe it won’t happen anymore. Maybe since I was gone for so long, they realized over that amount of time that I’d been gone that they had no one to prank anymore. So maybe they’d stop. Maybe they’d stopped already.  
  
Who is 'they'?  
  
Why did the landlord lie to me?  
  
Someone lives in that apartment. Of course someone does. There’s no possible way someone doesn’t.  
  
Maybe it’s him. Maybe the landlord secretly hides in there, listens to what I’m doing. Watches me through minute, hidden holes he’s drilled in the walls. Knocks on the walls to scare me at night.  
  
Maybe it’s him and multiple people. Him and my neighbors, messing with me. Maybe they don’t like me.  Maybe they hate me. Maybe this is their way of forcing me to move out.  
  
_9:46._ I should get some water, maybe eat something. Calm down a little.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_10:20 PM._  
  
I’m drinking my fourth glass of water. My eyes keep unwillingly flickering to the digital clock on the oven.  
  
My heart is pounding, and I have an antsy, anxious sensation in my stomach, like restless fingers wiggling and twitching inside of me. I got the water to calm the sensation, but now it only feels like I’m going to throw it all back up.  
  
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. There’s nothing to be afraid of.  
  
But maybe there is.  
  
It wasn’t as if I had imagined the last couple of months. The first few nights, maybe. At that point, I could have just been so nervous and vulnerable that, by some sort of stretch of imagination, I could have dreamt up the noises.  
  
But, a month later? Two months later? And every night?  
  
Maybe they really didn’t exist. Maybe it was me.  
  
Did my family have any history of mental illness? I didn’t recall ever hearing about it if we did, but…it was a possibility. Maybe there was…something wrong with me. Maybe I did imagine everything.  
  
But now I think of the loud slamming that returned my own knocking days ago. I think of how it vibrated the ground, shook in my bones and nearly made my heart stop. I think of how it made the picture frames fall off of the wall and smash onto the floor. I think of how it felt like someone was trying to come in _through_ the wall.  
  
It wasn’t my imagination.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_11:10 PM._  
  
I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the refrigerator, the coolness of the linoleum and the metal door is soothing to my burning skin. My heart rate has slowed just slightly, enough that I don’t hear it in my ears as much. I’m breathing in through my nose. I might call Kyungsoo, tell him to come over. Then at least I wouldn’t be alone with my thoughts, these thoughts that scare me. At least I would have his bravery to make up for the courage I don’t have.  
  
But wait—his exams. He told me he had mid-semester exams this week. He’s probably studying his tail off right now, or maybe even sleeping in preparation for tomorrow’s test. If he spent the night, he could end up not studying enough and fail his test, or even worse—he could be late for his test and not be able to take it at all.  
  
I knew how seriously Kyungsoo took school, especially this university that he had worked so hard for in middle school and high school. If I messed up his studies, I would never be able to forgive myself.  
  
I can’t have his bravery to hold me up this time. I’m on my own.  
  
All on my own.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_11:50 PM._  
  
Just now, I searched the walls, looking for any holes, any tiny cameras, anything that I could have missed before. All of the furniture, all of the picture frames that I had put back against the wall, I tore the frames down again and shoved furniture out of the way, searching, searching, searching.  
  
After the walls, I moved on to the ceilings, and the mirrors, and the floors, and the doors, and all of my windows. Looking for anything off, anything peculiar, anything that could have been used to watch me or spy on me. Looking, looking, looking.  
  
After I had practically torn my apartment to pieces, I sat back on my heels on the carpet, looking at the mess I made with shaking hands. All that mess and nothing to show for it.  
  
Because I found nothing.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
Half past midnight.  
  
…I don’t know what came over me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Why did I do that?  
  
Why did I do that? Why did I do that? _Why did I do that?_  
  
I wish I could take it back. I wish I could go back to before I did that. I wish I could go back to before I even moved here. I wish I’d just stayed home with Mom and Dad. I hate this apartment. I hate this building. I hate these walls. I hate everything. I want everything to go away.  
  
I went next door to apartment 13A. I don’t know what I had planned to do when I got there, I just went over there in a rush of fury and fear and sudden resolve. I just wanted to solve it. I wanted to catch whoever it was next door and ask them, to their face, to stop. Whether that was the landlord, or some bums that decided to sneak in there and sleep in there during the night, or some other prankster neighbors, whomever. I just wanted to stop them. I just wanted it to stop. Why did I do it? Why did I do it? _Why?_  
  
I stood in front of the door, tried to open it. It was locked. I knocked, I knocked hard. Nobody answered. So I picked the lock with a paperclip until it unlocked. I burst through the front door.  
  
And nothing.  
  
All of the insults, all of the resolve and bravery and rage within me died in seconds, shriveling and drying up and leaving nothing but black, sticky tar to fester in my stomach and rise up the back of my throat, suppressing a scream that fought its way to tear out of me.  
  
There was nothing.  
  
No furniture, no people. Just dust, a broom against the wall, and a spider on the furthest wall. No noise. No anything. Just the thickest, most penetrating and terrifying silence I’d ever heard.  
  
I didn’t even shut the door again. I ran.  
  
I ran back here, shut and locked my door behind me, hot tears of horror stinging my throat and pouring down my face. I’m still crying. I can’t breathe.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_1:00 AM_  
  
I just threw up, there’s nothing left in my stomach, but I keep dry heaving.  
  
This can’t be happening. How? How is this possible?  
  
I know what I’ve been hearing. I _know_. There was knocking. Other days, there were footsteps, and voices talking. Laughing, every now and then. Noises, all sorts of noises. All from apartment 13A. The empty, lonely, silent 13A.  
How? How? How? How? How?  
  
Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I really am going insane. I must be. How else could I imagine such noises? Every day for 2 months, _every day_ , I heard them. I’m crazy.  
  
But Kyungsoo heard them too, that one time…  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_1:30 AM_  
  
I tried the landline, tried calling my parents to tell them I’m coming home. That I’m moving out of this apartment and checking myself into a mental hospital. I need help.  
  
But there was no dial tone.  
  
When I looked to the wall where it had been connected, the cord was ripped. Not just unplugged from the wall, but the cord itself was torn, all of the wires inside exposed to the air and the jack still plugged into the wall.  
  
The sight made me drop the cordless phone to the ground and collapse onto the floor, still staring at the mutilated cord. I didn’t do that. Was I hallucinating? I made to reach for the exposed wires for a moment, then realized what I was doing and snatched my hand away.  
  
I stood up and ran to my bedroom, grabbing my cell phone, flipping it open and checking my reception. No bars.  
Impossible. It’s impossible.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_2:00 AM_  
  
I packed a bag full of as many clothes as I could fit. It was all I could manage right now, I’ll have to pack the rest of my things later. There’s not anything else I’ll need immediately, so I’m going to leave. I’m leaving this place. Whether it’s cursed, haunted, whatever. And if it’s not, then I’ll be able to get the help that I need once I get out of here. This is my last entry in this apartment. I can’t wait to have this behind me.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_2:10 AM_  
  
The door. The door won’t open.  
  
I tried to leave with my bag, tried to open the door and walk out of here.  
  
It won’t let me. The door is locked. It’s locked. _IT’S LOCKED._  
  
IT’S LOCKED. IT’S LOCKED FROM THE OUTSIDE.  
  
THERE’S NO LOCKS ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE DOOR. IT’S LOCKED. IT CAN’T BE LOCKED FROM THE OUTSIDE. IT’S LOCKED.  
  
IT’S LOCKED IT’S LOCKED IT’S LOCKED.  
  
I’M TRAPPED. I’M TRAPPED INSIDE HERE. I CAN’T LEAVE.  
  
It’s almost 3AM. I can’t be here. I can’t be here if it happens. When it happens. It’s going to happen. It always happens. I can’t be in here. I can’t. I can’t.  
  
Oh God. Oh my God. I have to get out. I HAVE TO GET OUT.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
2:30 AM  
  
I’m in my bathroom, lying on the floor. The cold of the tiles help calm me a little.  
  
I locked myself in here. I don’t know why I did that, considering I’m already trapped inside this apartment. Maybe to keep things out. What am I keeping out? I don’t know.  
  
Half an hour left.  
  
What will I do…if it happens? I feel like if I hear so much as one noise from next door, I’ll die.  
  
Will I knock back? I tried that before. It made things worse.  
  
Will I run?  
  
I can’t run. There’s nowhere to run. I’m trapped in here.  
  
There’s a window in this bathroom. Is it big enough for me to crawl through? Maybe not. It’s high up, and really small. I’d be lucky to get my shoulders through it.  
  
Well, there’s the window in my bedroom. It’s big enough for me to get through. But there’s no ledge beneath it. I’d have to jump.  
  
13 floors. Would I survive?  
  
Probably not. If anything, I’d be lucky to get away paralyzed. Every bone in my body would probably break.  
  
What if I stay? What would happen?  
  
Maybe it won’t happen this time. Maybe this will be the night that it finally stops.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_2:45 AM_  
  
Do I stay? Do I jump? Do I stay? Do I jump?  
  
How bad would it hurt if I jumped? Would it hurt before I died?  
  
What if I don’t die right away? What if I break everything, but I still don’t die? What if I’m a brain dead vegetable, but I’m not dead? How would that feel? Would it be worse than I feel right now? Would it be worth it?  
  
What about my mom and dad? I’m their only son. How would they feel after their only son killed himself?  
  
They would never know why. Nobody would ever know why I did it. They wouldn’t know. They wouldn’t understand. Even if they found this, they still wouldn’t know. They never heard the knocking.  
  
Except Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo would know. He heard the knocking.  
  
How would Kyungsoo feel if I jumped? He would be devastated, but at the same time, angry. He would be so angry at me for not fighting back. He’d tell me to fight tooth and claw. He’s always told me to fight, even as he fought for me. He always wanted me to be strong.  
  
I’m not strong. Maybe I’ll never be strong. I’m a coward. But I have to be strong now. I’ll fight, even if it means something bad happens to me. I won’t die a coward.  
  
But what am I fighting? I don’t know.  
  
If I don’t make it out of this alive, and someone finds this, my name is Park Chanyeol. I’m 19 years old, and I’m from Seoul. I moved to Hongdae to attend Hongik University. I have an older sister. I have a dog and a ferret that both live in my parents’ house. My best friend is Do Kyungsoo. I can play the guitar, drums and piano. I’m tall and lanky. I wanted to be a writer.  
  
Tell my parents, my sister and Kyungsoo that I love them, and that I tried my best. And please tell them not to forget about me.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_2:59 AM_

  
Goodbye.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
3:03 AM  
  
Nothing. Nothing’s happening.  
  
No knocking. No noises. Nothing.  
  
It’s over. It’s finally over.  
  
I’m going to sleep now. In my bed. Soundly. For the first time in a while.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
_3:18 AM_

  
  
_HANDS._  
  
I FELL ASLEEP AND SOMETHING GRABBED MY FACE. THERE WERE HANDS PULLING ON ME. HANDS COMING OUT OF THE WALL.  
  
I’M IN THE LIVING ROOM THEY’RE COMING. THE HANDS ARE COMING. HANDS AND ARMS AND FACES AND WHISPERS COMING OUT OF THE WALL  
  
THEYRE HERE FACES STARING AT ME THEY HAVE NO EYES BUT FACES STARING AND HANDS REACHING FOR ME ARMS BLOCKING THE FRONT DOOR VOICES WHISPERING MY NAME HOW DO THEY KNOW MY NAME I KEEP SCREAMING BUT NO ONE CAN HEAR NO ONE CAN SAVE ME  
  
ALL OF THE WINDOWS ARE LOCKED I CANT OPEN THEM I CANT JUMP I CANT ESCAPE  
  
MY HANDS ARE SHAKING I CANT HOLD MY PEN  
  
DONT LET THEM TAKE ME  
  
HELP  
  
HELP  
  
HELP  
  
THEYRE TELLING ME TO COME LIVE WITH THEM THEY WANT TO PULL ME INTO THE WALL  
  
THEY LIVE INSIDE THE WALLS  
  
THEY LIVE INSIDE THE WALLS  
  
I HAVE TO GET OUT I HAVE TO GET OUT  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
THEY WERE INSIDE THE WALLS  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
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**October 21, 3:18 AM, is the last entry in the journal. This journal was found on the floor of the living room, near the front door. The front door, however, was broken off of its hinges, lying in the hallway outside with scratch marks and blood on the inside of it. Apartment 13B was abandoned, with all of the furniture and belongings still inside of it, along with big, gaping holes all over the walls. Park Chanyeol has been missing for 7 years. Whether he is alive or dead is unknown.**


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